


You are 17 years old

by AugmentedHuman



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/F, Female JD, Gen, POV Second Person, Suicide, Unhealthy Relationships, Unspecified Mental Illness, this is so angsty im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 01:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugmentedHuman/pseuds/AugmentedHuman
Summary: Jamie Dean is 8 years old when she watches her mother die. It all goes downhill from there.(I'd fight the world for you, I hope you'd fight for me)





	You are 17 years old

Your name is Jamie, and you are 8 years old, and your mother ruffles your too-long hair, and then she walks into the library, and the last time you ever see her she is waving to you while bathed in fire, and you think something inside of you dies that day.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you’ve been through 10 high schools in three years, and you haven’t been in a town for more than six weeks in 9 years, and you still feel you’re falling every time you close your eyes.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and there is a girl, like you, you think. She had a soul, and she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen in your entire life. Smart too, she recognises your quote, and you smile even as a jock wraps his heavy arm around your shoulders and neck.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and the girl walks into 7/11. Her name is Veronica, she says, and you fall in love right there and then. You introduce yourself as JD, not Jamie, never Jamie. She brings up your mother and everything goes dark quick, but you don’t think you messed it up too badly, at least not judging by the look on her face, the sly grin she gives you as the blonde bitch drags her our of the 7/11, leaving you alone to your slushies.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you were right, Veronica is like you, and you know because she’s sneaking through your window at midnight, and before you know it you're on your knees in front of her. She tells you that you're beautiful, and as your bodies press together in a desperate reach for some feeling of togetherness, you think you’re willing to believe her.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you technically just killed a girl. Some long buried part of you isn’t okay with this, but you bury it deep again, you can’t afford to freak out now, Veronica needs you, needs direction. You think that the long buried part of your mind dies that day, but you can’t bring yourself to care. The only thing on your mind is her, and if you need too you'll destroy it all for her.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and they made her cry. You saw all of it, and then you see red, and before you know it you’re on the floor, and you can’t breath, and she’s _crying_. You won’t let them hurt her, you can’t let them hurt her, and as you talk her out of her hysterics, a plan forms in your mind.

Your name is JD and you are 17 years old, and you just killed two boys in cold blood. Veronica is scared, but she'll understand it soon, you did it for her, you’d do anything for her. Her love is the closest you’ve ever come to god, you think, and soon she'll know it too.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and Veronica asks you how your mother died. For a moment, you are Jamie again, young and scared, and so so stupid. You tell her about the library, and then about the mission, and instead of welcoming it as you thought she would, she pushes you away, and you don’t understand.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and Veronica tells you stop, stop the killing, stop your mission, stop all of it. You want a life with her, you really do, so you agree, and you try, you really try to be what she wants, even when if feels wrong, even when you feel like you can't breathe, even when you feel like a puzzle piece too smashed out of shape to ever fit again.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you can’t understand why she doesn’t see that a dead Heather is a good thing. No matter what side of the line she stands with McNamara and Duke, one of them should be dead, not left alive to swan around the place and ruin decent people’s lives.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and your father is talking to you, but all you can hear are your own screams as your mother vanishes into fire, and when your father walks out you see red, and you grab the gun from your belt and shoot the wall, laughing at his anger when he yells at you through the house.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you can’t breathe. Veronica walks out, and you slam your fist into the wall, knuckles breaking through the drywall, leaving you with bruised knuckles. You do it twice more, and your hand is bleeding and possibly broken, but you can hardly feel it. The pain has given you clarity, and you know what you have to do.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you break into your dad’s workshop and steal the supplies you need. All these years of him rambling about explosives have left you with an intimate knowledge of just how to build a bomb, but for this to work, you’re going to need a bit of help. You see Heather Duke, hiding her own insecurities by lashing out, and you smile. Prefect.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you have the signature of every student at Westerberg in the pocket of your coat, and there’s roughly 3 kilos of c4 set up in the gym, ready to be triggered. But first, you need Veronica. Once they’re all dead, she'll see, she'll see that it was them poisoning her, keeping her away from you, and things will be perfect, beautiful, and then maybe you'll be able to breathe again.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and when you climb through Veronica’s window, she locks herself in the closet. You try and talk her out of it, you know she’s scared, you’ve been there, but once Westerburg is gone you know you'll see that it was their fault, that Westerburg was a poison. She'll come back and you'll be whole again, just the two of you, together.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and Veronica won’t come out of the closet. You kick the door down, and almost immediately feel like somebody has knocked the air out you. She’s dangling by the neck, and before you know it you’re on your knees, begging with her, pleading for her to wake up. You don’t know when you started crying, but by the time you’re back to your bike, there are damp patches soaked into your trenchcoat.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you’re still crying as you rig the trigger bomb in the boiler room, because god know that if Veronica doesn’t get to live, neither do these assholes. The timer on the trigger is shorter than it could be, but you don’t care. You’re not planning on getting out anymore, if she’s dead then there’s nothing left for you, _nothing_ , so you couldn’t care less if you blow yourself sky high with the rest of the school.

Your name is JD and you are 17 years old and there is a voice behind you, and for a moment you think you’re hallucinating it. You turn from the bomb, and there she is, like an warrior angel, croquet mallet over one shoulder and glaring at you, and the relief of knowing she’s alive slams into your chest harder than a train would. She’s begging you to stop, but you can’t, not now, not after you’ve come so far. Veronica will understand after the dust settles.

Your name is JD and you are 17 years old and Veronica mentions your mother and you know that you can’t stop, not now. You say as much, and she throws herself at you. You manage to twist the mallet from her grip, and toss it aside, but her hands are on the gun. You try and pull it back, and the struggle continues until the gun goes off. Veronica screams, and you are terrified, so terrified to have hurt her, that it’s almost a relief when the agony starts to spread over you, a burning pain in your side. You choke out one last thing to her and collapse, and your hearing is too muffled to make out what she’s saying before your vision goes black.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you surprisingly, have woken up again. Veronica is gone, and so is the bomb, and it takes you longer than you would have liked for you to put the pieces together. You pull yourself out of the pool of your own blood, ignoring the burning agony in your side, because you can’t afford pain right now, you need to find her before she does something stupid. You press a hand to your wound and you stumble out of the boiler room, committed to your new mission.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and you find her on the football field, far enough from the school that only she would've died. Clever girl, too clever for you to have any chance of outsmarting her. You see her holding the bomb to her chest and you know what you have to do. You take it from her and push her away, and you hadn’t noticed but you’re crying.

Your name is JD, and you are 17 years old, and the bomb clutched to your chest only has seconds left on the timer. You’re more scared than you thought you’d be, a cold fear that has settled in your bones, but you know this is the only way. You’d do anything for her, anything, because she is the closest you'll ever get to god, even now. You’re going to miss her, wherever you end up after this. You’d give anything to hold her one last time, to kiss her again, but it’s too late for that, so you settle for telling her what she is to you, over and over again, a mantra to repeat until your inevitable demise. She cuts you off at the very end, and the last thing you hear is her voice. She’s crying, and her voice breaks as she tells you. _“Say hi to god”_

Your name is Jamie Dean, and you are only 17 years old as you force yourself to smile weakly at Veronica, before closing your eyes for what will hopefully be the last time. There’s a pause in the steady beeping of the bomb held to your chest, and you know this is it, there’s no way out of it now. You hear the explosion, and god, it hurts so much more than you’d ever imagined. The pain is everywhere, ripping you apart so fast you can’t even scream, and everything goes black before you even know what happened. The last thing you think is that it was all worth it if you kept her safe.

**Author's Note:**

> so I wrote this is an hour while having a breakdown and it's really angsty but so is JD so it fits


End file.
